Hero in the Shadows
by The Lady Wolfshead
Summary: Post-OotP. Draco Malfoy is feeling lost and confused following the incarceration of his father. Until one day at the end of summer, Lucius returns . . .


I had a dream last night, and decided to make a fic out of it. Post-OotP, from Draco's POV. 

Disclaimer: I own nothing connected to the Harry Potter universe. All I possess is a great love of the books and an obsession with writing fanfiction. 

*

Draco was holed up in his bedroom, staring at nothing and not even noticing the fact that his stomach was rumbling. He hadn't eaten properly since term ended. He had done nothing all summer, except sit and think, and the broken ornaments around him were testament to his occasional fits of rage. He hadn't been bothered to clean up the pieces – leave it to the house-elves, whenever they would appear. 

He shivered, despite the heat, and drew his legs up to his chest. Last term, his whole world had fallen apart. His father, the man Draco most admired and feared, had been landed in Azkaban. Voldemort had been furious that his Death Eaters had failed him yet again, and had left them there to rot as a punishment. 

Before then, Draco had been secure. He had a family who loved him – of course they did, just look at all his wonderfully expensive possessions – and had been filled with a conviction that what his father was doing was _right. Voldemort was the most powerful wizard in the world, and he had all the answers, he could make the world right again. _

And now . . . now he was not so sure. His family had been ripped apart. His mother was dealing with it all in her usual cold, detached way, and hadn't even wanted to talk about the fact that her husband was there. She was carrying on as normal – even now, Draco could hear laughter from the drawing-room where she was entertaining some of her friends – and he hated her for it. How could she deal with it so casually, while he was falling apart? 

And now he hated Voldemort, for keeping his father from him. His father had found Voldemort's refusal to let anything or anyone get in his way admirable, and for a while Draco had too. But now it was his father that was bearing the brunt of Voldemort's wrath, and he realised that Voldemort was nothing more than an evil power-hungry bastard who didn't care how many lives he ruined in the process. 

Lucius had wanted Draco to join the Death Eaters once he had come of age, and Draco had been all for it, once. Now, he was damned if he was going to bow and scrape before the wizard who had taken his father away from him. 

His thoughts strayed once again to Potter. He'd been thinking about Potter a lot lately, Merlin knows why. Potter was lucky, he supposed. He had never known any family, he'd been raised by relatives who cared not a jot for him, he couldn't know what it was like to have been happy and secure, only to have that taken away from him. Sure, he had lost his godfather in the battle that had seen Lucius landed in Azkaban, and death was obviously worse than prison, but still . . . everything Draco had ever known had now changed, and he couldn't handle it. 

Draco stood up and stretched, and made his way outside to where the Malfoy family tomb was located. He opened the door and slipped inside, and sat down amongst the bones of his ancestors. It was his favourite place to come and think. It was cool in here, and the sight of bones had never upset Draco – rather, they fascinated him. Death had always fascinated him. Death. The end. The long sleep. How peaceful it must be . . . 

_Was_ death worse than Azkaban? Draco wondered. At least, once you were gone, you couldn't _feel_ anymore. It must be quite a relief to some. He'd never understood why death held so much fear for other people, Voldemort in particular. He for one was quite interested in finding out what happened next. Whereas in Azkaban, you were forced to relive your very worst memories, most prisoners went mad within a month; some just gave up and died. Draco wondered what had happened to his father by now. He had been sent to Azkaban in June. It was now the end of August. 

There was a commotion up at the house, and shortly one of the house-elves knocked on the tomb door. 

"Master Draco must go to the house," it squeaked. "Master has returned." Draco pulled the door back, relief sweeping through him and he was filled with joy for a moment – his father was back, everything would be all right again! But then he saw that the house-elf was cowering before him, covering its huge eyes with its hands. 

"What's the matter, Speck?" demanded Draco. The house-elf just squeaked and shook its head. 

"I is not allowed to say, Master, you must go to the house and see." 

Draco knocked the elf out of his way as he sprinted back up to the house. Everything had gone quiet, and he was filled with a sense of foreboding as he ran through the drawing room and entered the hall. 

One of his mother's friends had swooned, and was being looked after by a couple of house-elves. Another one crossed to him and whispered, trembling, "I'm so sorry!" Narcissa had slumped against the wall, even paler than usual, and was shaking uncontrollably. And then he noticed his father. 

His appearance was shocking – long hair filthy and matted, his robes ragged and hanging off him. He was wand-thin, his face gaunt and his ribs showing even through his robes. But that wasn't the worst. 

He was staring about him with no sign of emotion whatsoever and, when he turned his eyes towards Draco, Draco backed away, horrified. They were blank and vacant, and no flicker of any sign of life in them. 

"There was this note on him," Narcissa's friend whispered, handing it to Draco. He took it with shaking hands, unable and unwilling to tear his eyes from his father. 

_And so is the fate of all who anger the Dark Lord_.

Draco ripped the note to shreds, pure fury replacing the shock that had filled him at the sight of his father. _How dare he? How DARE he do that to my father!_ Years of faithful service, and Lucius' only reward was weeks in Azkaban and the Dementor's kiss. _And he sends my father back to us to see for ourselves what happens when you fall foul of the Dark Lord. He's a twisted, sadistic BASTARD! I'll show him, I won't bend the knee to this monster, I'll strike out, on my own if I have to, and I'll bloody well KILL him! _

He turned to the house-elves, radiating deadly calm. 

"Speck, Obi, take Mr Malfoy to the dungeon. He can stay there for the time being. Loki, take my mother into the drawing room and give her some herbal tisane." He turned to Narcissa's friends and bowed. 

"Dena, Queline, I am sorry you had to witness that. You may stay with Mother, if you wish. Any time you want to go, just summon one of the servants and they'll get your transport ready." He gave them another bow, and turned to go.

"What are you going to do, Draco?" whispered Dena, clearly worried about her friend's son. He turned back and smiled, his eyes glinting dangerously. 

"If anyone wants me, I'll be in the library." He stalked off, trying to quell the instincts that were screaming for revenge. At least he had something to be grateful to Voldemort for. The Dark Lord had given Draco a purpose, and his days now had meaning again. And he was going to bring the bastard down . . . 


End file.
